


I've been a miner (of a heart of gold)

by partypaprika



Category: Gossip Girl
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 02:18:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20499233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/partypaprika/pseuds/partypaprika
Summary: On Dan’s thirtieth birthday, he gets drunk with his friends and does the unthinkable. He wakes up twelve hours later with a horrible hangover ringing in a new decade and an outgoing call on his phone that last for twenty-three minutes and sixteen seconds to Blair Waldorf. There’s no question which is worse.





	I've been a miner (of a heart of gold)

On Dan’s thirtieth birthday, he gets really drunk with his friends and does the unthinkable. He wakes up twelve hours later with a horrible hangover ringing in a new decade and an outgoing call on his phone that last for twenty-three minutes and sixteen seconds to Blair Waldorf. There’s no question which is worse.

There’s no memory of the phone call—a Blair-sized gap in his brain from the evening before—dinner in the meatpacking district, drinks at Dan’s favorite bar, shots, more shots until the air turned too warm to breathe and Dan felt something beating painfully hard in his chest. It felt like panic or age or regret or a dangerously high BAC and it kept going faster and faster until Dan pushed his way through the crowd of people into the fresh air.

He remembers the first gulps of air, the relief as he leaned against the wall, establishing his bearings. Fresh air should have been sobering but it only made him drunker—or perhaps, more acutely aware of his inebriation—and everything became hazy, tinted with relief.

There’s a flicker of remembrance—Dan looking down at his phone, thumbing through the contacts—and then…nothing.

He can’t even remember hearing her voice and that might be the worst thing of all.

Dan teaches writing at City College. It’s a day job. It provides some variation in content from his other job, writing books and articles, and it pays the bills. Back when Dan was twenty, he thought that he needed just one big hit and he’d be set. But New York is not a place for laurel reliance. He learned pretty quickly that even reasonably successful books don’t cover the cost of living in New York City.

Most mornings, he wakes up, takes the subway from Brooklyn to 135 Street Station where he gets out, satchel and coffee in hand, and walks to campus. He teaches four classes a semester, holds office hours twice a week and spends most of his mornings and evenings writing or grading papers.

It’s not a small existence—it’s just, it’s just different than what he thought it would be. Being a writer. At twenty, the world seemed limitless. Now, everywhere he looks, he sees the self-made walls of life.

The morning after his thirtieth birthday, he wakes up, hangover singing its song, and sees the outgoing call to Blair. Blair Waldorf (_as if there could be any other Blair_). In the harsh light of day, he traces the call log entry. She must have picked up—even voicemail ends after a few minutes. What did they talk about? For twenty-three minutes (and sixteen seconds)?

They last talked three years ago—before Blair’s divorce from Chuck. They’d both been—angry. Dan, at the end of his rope, Blair refusing to admit she’d ever been wrong about—Chuck, anything. Dan pushed too hard, Blair hung up on him. They’d—argued, nothing that hadn’t happened before. He’d assumed that they would make up when the universe thrust them together as it so often seemed to—when Dan least expected or wanted it, there Blair Waldorf would be.

But then one month passed and then two. Fall dove into winter, which jumped into spring, summer. A year had passed before Dan realized that Blair wasn’t going to call him up—wasn’t going to apologize. She’d gotten divorced by then and—well, she knew where to find him. Her silence only meant one thing. Dan took the hint.

Dan stares at the record through the rest of the weekend and then the start of the week, as it races towards the bottom of his call log. Blair hasn’t called him back. Or texted. To be fair, Dan hasn’t texted or called either. But it’s not exactly—encouraging. He’s racked his brain trying to figure out what he said. He thinks about what he could have said (did he say anything about how he _felt_ about Blair? What if he did?) or what might she have said (was she happy to pick up? Did she say that she missed Dan?). Every time that he looks at the log, a wave of shame-tinged exhilaration sweeps over him. But she didn’t hang up on Dan right away. At least not for twenty-three minutes and sixteen seconds.

On Thursday, in his office, he tries to put Blair and that cursed phone call from his mind while he’s grading papers. His Creative Writing 105 class has tackled first person narratives this week and he needs to get them graded before they meet on Friday morning. He takes a break halfway through and scrolls idly through his notifications. Most consist of news Dan wishes to ignore or new tweets from people he doesn’t especially care about.

He replies to a text from his mom and then he sees that he’s been tagged in an Instagram post. He clicks through to see a post from Serena of an old photo of the gang from sophomore year—he has an arm wrapped around Blair and Serena’s next to him, Nate behind him, Chuck too and Vanessa’s there as well. And they all look—brilliantly happy—smiles so wide they might burst. They’re shining, all of them.

Serena’s captioned it: _I love you guys! #tbt #nonjudgingbreakfastclub_. It’s been ten years—over ten years since the days of the non-judging breakfast club. Christ, high school and college had been a nightmare—one catastrophe after another—but there’d been such a sense of belonging at times. Happiness. Collaboration. Everyone banding together.

At thirty, Dan is long past the days of constant calamity and he has no desire to have them back. But, it’s no coincidence that the thing that Dan misses most about those days is the one thing that’s not in his life right now. It seems worth the risk to see if that can change.

That decides it.

She picks up on the second ring, her voice just the smallest hint of breathless, and it washes over Dan and he closes his eyes in relief.

“Daniel Humphrey, as I live and breathe,” Blair says, adopting a faux-southern accent.

“Blair Waldorf,” Dan acknowledges. “I do declare.”

“You sound remarkably sober today,” Blair says.

“My body and I worked out a deal—I would get drunk on my birthday and my body would make me regret it enough to postpone repetition for another full year,” Dan says.

Blair huffs out a laugh that leaves Dan feeling pleased with himself. “Sounds like you’ve really worked out a good system there.”

She goes silent and Dan holds on, waiting to see what’s next. When Blair doesn’t speak, Dan clears his throat. “Don’t judge me too harshly, but I don’t remember our conversation from the other night,” he says.

“Ah,” Blair says and Dan’s not sure if he’s imagining the underbite of hurt.

“I don’t suppose you care to enlighten me?” Dan says.

Blair makes a noise—Dan’s out of practice, he used to be able to interpret every nuance of Blair. Each sound, each facial expression was hard won knowledge, but when he reaches for it, it’s all gone, washed away somehow.

“I’m afraid that I promised drunk-Dan that I would keep his secrets,” Blair says.

“Even though we’re one and the same?” Dan asks. It comes out too desperate and Dan wishes that he could take it back. Sound more nonchalant.

“Drunk-Dan made me promise,” Blair says. “So, you only have yourself to blame.”

They sit in silence for another few seconds. It feels like a straight shot of rejection even though no question has been asked (_was Dan going to ask it?_).

“I should probably let you—” Dan starts just as Blair says, “Do you want to get dinner?”

“Yes—” overlaps with “Oh, I didn’t mean—” And then they’re both laughing, relief and joy filling up Dan’s stomach until he can’t stop smiling.

“Dinner,” Dan says. “Let’s get dinner. Tonight?”

“Oh, I—” Blair stops, pauses, let’s out an exhale that Dan is certain is a huff of laughter. “Yes, tonight is fine. Where?”

“You were the one who invited me out,” Dan says. “I think it’s generally the inviter’s job to come up with the location.” Only after he finishes speaking does he replay what he’s said and manfully resist the urge to hit himself in the face. Could he have made it any clearer that he wants it to be a date? Play it cool, Humphrey!

“Well that’s just unfair,” Blair says, and she’s definitely smiling now. “But we both know that I am the far superior planner between the two of us, so I will accept this challenge.”

“It’s a challenge now to come up with a place to eat?”

The Blair-of-old wouldn’t hesitate to take this opening as an opportunity to put down Dan. Make a remark about finding a place with a low enough bar that Dan could pass it. Or perhaps some comment about the quality of Dan’s clothes. But new-Blair, Blair who Dan can’t quite read the same, doesn’t take the bait.

Instead, she suggests a small but very trendy sushi place that even Dan’s heard come up in conversation. “Shizuka?” Dan asks, surprised.

“Why, have you forgotten how to use chopsticks?” Blair asks, and now she sounds like herself. “I knew you were uncultured, but I didn’t realize how uncultured.”

Dan rolls his eyes but he’s smiling. They agree on eight o’clock, Blair arranging the reservation, and then far sooner than Dan would like, the line is dead. He holds on, an extra beat, as if the quiet will be broken by Blair’s voice again, but the silence continues until Dan puts the phone back in his pocket.

“Dinner tonight,” Dan says and he can’t stop smiling as he reads through the rest of the papers.

They both show up about five minutes prior to eight and Blair smiles so brightly at Dan that his chest reels with the impact. Dan’s not sure if it’s been three years or three million, but Blair looks different—older in some undefinable way. Her face is a little fuller, with her hair cut to her shoulders and she’s wearing a powder blue dress that screams trendy, although Dan would be the last to know.

When they get within touching distance, Dan realizes that he hasn’t thought this out—does he go in for a hug? Shake hands? Wave? Too many things flash through Dan’s mind and in panic, he goes for the middle ground, hand outstretched.

Blair looks down at Dan’s hand and there’s a long moment of silence between them—Dan’s internal dread meter rising spectacularly. Blair bites her lip for a second and it looks almost—unsure—before she grasps Dan’s hand and then pulls him into a hug.

Dan stands there in complete surprise before he remembers to wrap his arms around Blair. It’s—it’s almost unfair how well she fits into his arms and he can’t stop himself from smelling her—jasmine and fresh ink and a hint of coffee. He closes his eyes and lets himself exist in this moment—here and now with Blair pressed close. What if he needs to stockpile this for the next three years?

Eventually they pull apart. Blair looks at Dan’s outfit and lifts up an eyebrow in suggestion. “Clearly you found the best profession for your sartorial inclinations,” she says, but there’s no malice in it and Dan shrugs good-naturedly.

“Which came first, the outfits or the writing?” Dan says.

“The eternal question,” Blair says as Dan holds open the door for her. “Along with who you found to give you that haircut.”

And just like that, everything feels normal. Dan laughs, unwillingly, and Blair smiles wide. Dan would do almost anything to receive that smile and if this is the only way that he can inspire it, he’ll take it.

They can’t stop talking through dinner—three years turns out to be a long time and there’s so much to catch up on. Blair works at Vanity Fair. She moved from accessories into fashion (which she assures Dan is a key promotion). “I provide input on more articles, have better positioning within the magazine spread and outrank a few other editors,” Blair says, no small amount of pride in her words.

“Still planning on conquering the world?” Dan asks. It’s meant to be a light joke, but Blair frowns and looks at Dan seriously.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I mean, yes, obviously I want to conquer the world. And if I continue on the straight and narrow, I’ll be qualified for an executive editorship in a few years, probably at another magazine, and then deputy editor of a magazine, followed by editor-in-chief.” At Dan’s questioning glance, she flashes a half-smile. “Don’t misunderstand me—I want that. But, I want other things as well. The divorce put things in perspective.” She looks down at an uneaten piece of sashimi and gracefully eats it. When she looks up to see Dan still looking at her, she smiles. “What I’m trying to say is that I have big plans. Just not all of them are work related.”

“Are the rest of them related to dominating the social sphere?” Dan asks.

Blair’s lips quirk up in a smile. “I can’t lie and say that that’s completely false. But, it’s not important in the same way that it once was.”

“Is that maturity that I hear coming from your mouth?” Dan asks and Blair laughs.

They end up staying late enough that they’re the last customers to leave the restaurant, the staff giving them the judgmental eye until Dan and Blair pay their check. Dan doesn’t want the night to end, but it’s eleven p.m. on a weeknight—they both have work in the morning. And they’ve just reestablished contact—asking if Blair wants to spend another few hours at a bar with him seems like it might scare her off.

“Let’s do this again?” Dan asks as they exit out the restaurant.

“Definitely,” Blair says and she hugs Dan for a long moment. When they’re done, Dan starts walking toward the subway. He looks back at Blair, waiting for her ride, and she’s watching him. Something in the pit of his stomach starts to simmer with hope? Anticipation? It’s—good. Dan’s happy.

By the time that Dan emerges from the subway, there’s a glowing line of text on Dan’s lock screen that makes Dan’s heart jump—it’s a text from Blair. It says, _thanks for meeting me for dinner_.

_thank you for inviting me_, Dan texts back. _superior planning skills in action_.

_don’t think that you’re getting out of planning the next one_, Blair writes.

There’s going to be a next one and Dan feels on top of the world. _I wouldn’t dream of it_, he sends.

They text all throughout Friday—little things like how someone on Dan’s subway car was playing their music out loud instead of on headphones or how Blair’s mother called her three times before she woke up just to ask if Blair would be meeting her on vacation (she would not be—fashion editors apparently did not have endless vacation days, who knew?). On Saturday morning, Blair tells him about her walk through Central Park before brunch and Dan complains about having to spend his morning grading papers.

For dinner, he meets two friends, Gina and David, also professors at City College (French literature and American history, respectively), for Italian. As they start wrapping up, Gina suggests that they head over to a bar for a drink or two.

Dan looks down at his phone. The last message that he has from Blair is from an hour ago—a snarky comment about how certain editors should have pursued jobs as accountants if they were going to be upset about having to do work on a Saturday.

_and it’s not even that much work_, she wrote. _seeing how I did their job for them. _

It’s nice to know that some things haven’t changed.

“Dan, are you going to come?” David asks.

“Yeah,” Dan says, his eye catching on Blair’s name again. “Do you mind if I invite a friend?”

“The more, the merrier!” Gina says and so Dan types out, _if you’ve met your quota for making people cry today, want to come meet me and some friends at a bar?_

The reply comes a few minutes later as they’re heading out into the pleasantly cool spring air. _I’m still behind on fulfilling that allotment_

Dan’s stomach drops with disappointment—of course, it’s short notice. Why would Blair be able to come on a Saturday night? It’s also—embarrassingly soon after seeing her on Thursday. What was Dan thinking? If it were possible to have a time machine to go back and change the past, this is the exact situation it would need to be used for.

But then, another text pops up, _but I can always meet my quota there—I hear bars are fertile breeding grounds for weeping_.

Dan grins, his stomach dipping for a different reason entirely. “Perfect,” he says to Gina and David. “My friend will meet us there.”

They go to a cocktail bar with live jazz music where Gina knows one of the people who works there. They congregate near the back, Dan checking his phone every thirty seconds in case Blair texts that she can’t find them.

About thirty minutes in, David gives Dan an amused look. “God, you’re on edge, aren’t you?”

“No,” Dan says.

“You’ve been checking your phone a lot…Right, Gina?” David says. Gina agrees, laughing.

“I just want to make sure that she finds us when she gets here,” Dan protests, but he laughs a little too, unable to help himself. Yes, he’s a little anxious, but he just wants to make sure that she—gets there. Finds them in the bar. It would be incredibly rude to invite Blair somewhere and then leave her hanging when she gets to the bar.

“Oh, I’m sure,” Gina says. “So, who is this friend anyway?”

Before Dan can say anything, Blair materializes, as if summoned, next to Gina and with her arm outstretched says, “Hi, I’m Blair.”

Gina and David both shake her hand, friendly and warm, and David takes a step book and squints at Blair. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

Dan expects Blair to preen at that, introduce herself more fully. But instead, Blair just smiles and shrugs. “Are you a big fan of Vanity Fair? You may have seen my name in small print on our masthead—I’m an editor there.”

“Is it bad if I say that I do read Vanity Fair, but I don’t think that I’ve ever read the masthead?” David says, grimacing playfully, and Blair smiles even more at that.

“Probably because you’re a reasonable person. A sane person, even. No one sane ever reads the masthead,” Blair says. And then she looks across to Dan, catching his eye and smiles hello at him. Dan’s heart immediately speeds up to a hummingbird’s pace even as he tries to lower his expectations. She’s just there for a drink with an old friend—this doesn’t mean anything, so his traitorous heart can chill out.

His heart doesn’t get the memo.

Dan gets Blair a drink (_a martini, Humphrey. Yes, obviously with gin—as that is how martinis are made_.) and they chat with David and Gina. Blair’s a little awkward, but she’s clearly trying and David and Gina are the kind of people who go out of there way to be nice to people, Blair included. It’s a good time—Blair even looks like she’s enjoying herself.

Blair stays close enough to Dan that he can occasionally feel the press of her sparking against his side when one of them shuffles to let someone through the crowd. Each time, they both move away slowly—and Dan hopes that it’s not just him. There’s just so much—hope that Dan’s more than a little concerned he’s setting himself up for disappointment.

After a few drinks, David and Gina make their farewells, David elbowing Gina ever so slightly even though Gina hasn’t finished her drink. Feeling both grateful and embarrassed, Dan wishes them a good evening, carefully avoiding Blair’s eyes.

“Another round of drinks?” he asks.

“My turn,” Blair says and flags down a bartender.

Eventually, they snag a small table, closer to the music, and Blair turns her face up, eyes closed as she listens. Dan can’t stop staring at her—she’s so amazing and beautiful. It’s been years since he’s really seen Blair and even longer since he’s seen her so happy.

When Blair opens her eyes and looks at Dan, a fond look on her face, everything seems so simple and uncomplicated and Dan’s truth comes bursting out of him.

“I need to tell you something,” Dan says. Blair turns and looks at Dan, her full attention on him. Dan closes his eyes for a second and tries to think—how to tell Blair what he’s possibly always felt? “You’re not the only one whose gained perspective over the past few years. I don’t want to be your friend. I want to be more than friends. I want to take you out on dates. I want to kiss you. Right now. And I want you to want the same things.”

Blair smiles slowly, like she’s trying to keep in a secret and completely failing. “What?” Dan asks, trying not to be defensive but feeling like he just can’t catch a break. He laid his heart bare—was it all just for Blair to laugh at him.

“No, it’s nothing bad,” Blair says.

“You can’t just smile like that and not tell me why,” Dan says, his heart beating fast enough to hurt.

“You told me almost the exact same thing on your birthday,” Blair says. 

“What,” Dan says. He leans back, looks at Blair, tries to process. Blair gives him the same smile as before—it looks hopeful and happy and a little bit suggestive. Blair knew how Dan felt and she still showed up—still invited Dan out to dinner—texted Dan. That probably means that—that Blair feels— “Why didn’t you call or text me afterwards then?”

“Well, you somewhat implied that you’d be calling me in the light of day and when you didn’t—I didn’t know what that meant,” Blair says and her brows draw together. “But I set a date for myself. If you didn’t call by then, I was going to call you. Whether you wanted it or not.” She pulls out her phone and opens up her calendar showing Dan an entry for tomorrow that reads _Call Daniel Humphrey_ at 12 p.m.

“I guess you knew that I’d be a sure thing,” Dan says—he tries for a light-heartened note but it jars.

Blair shakes her head, her hair shimmering in the light. “Never. Dan—I’ve thought about you so much over the past few years, thinking the whole time that I had irreversibly screwed things up between us. Forget romantically, I couldn’t even manage friends with you. When you called it was like—a new light. A second chance. And I’m not going to let you go this time.”

She leans in and kisses Dan, Dan immediately opening to Blair, wrapping an arm around her back to pull her in closer and bringing up his other hand to cup her cheek. He kisses Blair with the hunger that he’s felt for the past few days, few years, ten years, maybe since the day they met like a flame-drawn moth.

Eventually, they pull back, the sounds of the band and conversation around them filtering in, and even in the dim light, Dan sees the blush across Blair’s face and wonders if his own is just as flushed. Blair holds out her hand and Dan grabs it like a lifeline, bringing his chair closer so that they’re pressed up together.

“Wow,” Dan says after a few seconds.

Blair smirks. “You’re not bad yourself,” she says. “So, if you didn’t remember what we talked about, why did you call me on Thursday.”

Dan feels a little bit silly as he says, “I saw the picture that Serena posted of all of us.” 

“The one from Thursday?” Blair says. “I saw that too. We were babies.”

“Our glory days,” Dan says smiling. “I missed you. And it seemed too much to leave it to regret.”

“We were something back then,” Blair says. “But I wouldn’t write us off too quickly.” She squeezes Dan’s hand and Dan feels something settle deep within his chest.


End file.
